No Such Thing As Ghosts
by Firebird9
Summary: If Phryne Fisher is dead, then why is she standing in Jack's office? Why did she fake her own death? More importantly, will Jack finally tell her how he feels?
1. Chapter 1

**No Such Thing As Ghosts**

**Author: Firebird**

**Rating: PG**

_The first season is just wrapping up here in New Zealand, and I'm thoroughly hooked._

_..._

Phryne was dead.

The knowledge sat in his heart like a stone, choking him, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. Radiating sudden paralysing lances of pain and grief. Bringing to mind bitter regrets and achingly sweet memories: things she had said, things she had done. Things he had said, and too many things he had left unsaid.

He sat alone at his desk, staring at the wall, occasionally glancing at the door through which she would never again come sweeping, to madden him and enliven him and make him fall in love with her.

The previous day played over in his mind. The look on Collins' face as he brought in the message circulating through the stations: a Hispano-Suiza wrecked on the coast road, the occupant unidentified, missing, possibly thrown into the sea. The call to Phryne's house: no, Miss Fisher was unavailable, following a lead to a farm, on the coast road they thought. The drive along the coast: desperate, silent prayers offered to a God he barely thought of anymore and was no longer certain he believed in. Identifying the wreck, unable now to deny what he had feared from the moment he received the message. Accepting the discarded purse and its contents: her pocketbook, revolver, makeup and mirror, a photograph of a young woman, and a handkerchief smudged with her lipstick. The sombre drive back to Melbourne, and the grim task of taking the news to her aunt, to her household, and, because no-one else would think of it, to Dr. Macmillan: shock, disbelief, tears. Finally, the endless night spent staring into the darkness, her handkerchief, surreptitiously removed from her purse, clutched in his hand like a talisman, the one remaining piece of her that was left to him.

He had dragged himself back to the station the next morning by habit and sheer force of will, walking silently past the men already on duty there. He had shut the door to his office behind him, and it appeared that the message had been received: he was not to be disturbed for anything less than the direst of emergencies.

At one point a young constable entered with some files, information he had requested the previous day, back when things still seemed important. He set them down in the empty space by the Inspector's right hand.

"Not there!" The words burst out, loud and harsh, before he had time to check them. '_There_' was where _she_ sat, the spot where Phryne perched whenever she took it into her head to grace him with her presence, cheerfully ignoring chairs and propriety, always too close for comfort and never quite close enough. _There_ was the spot where she would never sit again, and to place anything in it seemed wrong, somehow, almost a defilement, as though the uncaring world were already rushing in to claim the space she had left and erase her memory as though she had never been.

"Put them over there." He pointed to his left, to files that were doubtless important, just not to him. The constable, hands shaking slightly, complied, and he was left alone in the deafening silence, his eyes now drawn, as if magnetised, to that empty spot, that space that would never again, really, be filled.

He had known loss before, in the War, on the street, most recently at the Magistrate's Court where sixteen years of marriage had disappeared with a few words and his signature on a piece of paper. He could not remember a time when he had felt any loss so keenly.


	2. Chapter 2

_One day earlier..._

"Damn!" She had tried to wave the car down, and though Constable Collins had shot a brief, apologetic glance her way it was obvious that Jack had no intention of stopping for an unknown woman in a nondescript dress and hat. He must have seen the wreck, Phryne thought. She tried not to reflect on what exactly he must have inferred based on that particular piece of evidence: she only hoped her pursuers had reached the same conclusion. As it was, it was going to be a long walk back to Melbourne, and the clothes, especially the shoes, which she had liberated as a disguise from a nearby farmhouse, were already reminding her that the day was hot, and that they were heavy and not precisely her size.

...

The door to Jack's office opened again, and he glanced up briefly to see a woman in a nondescript dress and hat standing in the doorway. He frowned in irritation: why hadn't she just rung the damn bell if she wanted someone?

"This is a private office," he growled.

"Well in that case, I'd better close the door."

He froze. That voice. Cultured and careless, with just a hint of seduction. He raised his head again slowly, telling himself he was wrong, that grief was playing a cruel trick on his mind, that hope was an indulgence that would only worsen the pain. But then the woman removed her hat and there beneath it, impossible and lovely, was his Phryne.

The room was silent as he looked at her, and after a moment she began to feel awkward. She had had plenty of time to wonder, as she walked the long, hot road, and as she tried to sleep under a concealing bush, exactly how he would respond when he saw her. Sarcasm had been the most likely candidate she had thought – "Miss Fisher. I might have known I couldn't get rid of you that easily" – or perhaps anger – "What the hell did you think you were playing at?" – but his shocked silence frightened her. He wasn't angry, she could tell, but there was no immediate sign of happiness either. He seemed disbelieving, almost scared, as though...

"Now come on, Jack, you've said yourself there's no such thing as ghosts."

The words would have been a lot more reassuring if it hadn't occurred to him that they were exactly the sort of thing that Phryne's ghost would say. He walked towards her slowly, reminding himself that there really wasn't such a thing as ghosts, and that even if there were they wouldn't need to open a door to enter a room. He reached out and took her hands in his, slender and warm, and undeniably alive.

"Phryne." It was a whisper, a mere exhalation as the stone in his chest seemed to dissolve suddenly, leaving him able to draw breath for the first time in a day. Then without further thought he drew her close and did what he should have done a long time ago. He kissed her. He kissed her deeply and passionately and tenderly, feeling her kiss him back just as fervently, not stopping until he felt her suddenly sway in his arms, her weight falling against him as she clutched the lapels of his jacket to keep herself from falling.

"Phryne!" He pulled back, supporting her in his arms as he examined her face closely for the first time. There was dried blood on her temple and her skin was powdered with dust from the road, beneath which her usually fair complexion was warm and clammy with an unnatural pallor.

"Sorry Jack," she murmured, her voice sounding slightly vague, as though she had had a few drinks, "I'm afraid I'm feeling a little light-headed."

"Here." He helped her to the seat opposite his desk. "Sit down; I'll fetch you some water."

He was back again in a moment with a glass and a jug. He recognised the symptoms of heat exhaustion when he saw them and knew she needed fluids, fast. He could only hope that she didn't have a concussion as well: there was nothing he could do about that.

"Phryne?" Her eyes were closed, and he patted her cheek anxiously. If she became unconscious he might still lose her. "Phryne, you need to drink."

"Usually men offer me a drink before they kiss me."

He chuckled in spite of himself, and she accepted the glass, draining it in a moment. Watching her, he reached a decision.

"Explanations can wait. For now, I'm taking you to see Dr. Macmillan."

He expected an argument – normally, she argued with almost anything he tried to make her do – and knew it was a sign of just how exhausted she was when she simply nodded tiredly. "That's probably a good idea. Jack?" She laid a hand on his arm. "The men who tried to kill me – if they weren't convinced by the accident they might be watching the station. It might be better if they didn't recognise me."

"The men who tried to kill you?"

She gave a wan smile. "Did you really think I'd run the car off the road by accident?"

He hesitated, and she gave him an indignant look.

"I'll be taking a full statement in due course," he prevaricated, standing. "For now, are you able to walk to the car?"

He helped her up, and she stood shakily. He wrapped his trenchcoat around her, almost obscuring her smaller frame in its folds, and handed her the hat she had arrived in. She replaced it on her head, and he nodded.

"Keep your head down to hide your face and no-one will have any idea it's you."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was taking charge. Ordinarily she would have resisted, as much for the fun of seeing him flustered as for any specific objection, but today she was glad. She had fought long and hard for her independence and clung to it ferociously, but right now she had to concede that she was at the end of her resources. Had her would-be killers appeared in front of her at that moment, in all probability she would have done no more than blink stupidly at them while they put a bullet between her eyes.

So she let Jack wrap her in his trenchcoat and lead her back out through the station.

"Sir?" She heard Collins' voice, but kept her head down. He would recognise her in an instant.

"Constable, I'm taking this woman to the hospital. I'm likely to be out for the rest of the day." No further explanation, and no hesitation. He simply led her out to the car and installed her in the passenger's seat. A wicked voice in the back of her head observed that it must be a novel experience for him to have her absolute co-operation for once.

She glanced at him as he positioned himself in the driver's seat, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

"Don't become too accustomed to my meek obedience," she remarked as he pulled out into the street.

He sighed in mock annoyance. "If there is one thing I've become entirely accustomed to with you, Miss Fisher, it's the realisation that I shouldn't become too accustomed to anything."

She smiled and opened the window, then leaned her head against the side of the car and closed her eyes. The motion of the vehicle was making her queasy, but the breeze was refreshingly cool on her face. Jack, however, objected at once.

"Phryne?" He reached across and jostled her leg until she looked at him. "You need to stay awake."

"Mmm," she murmured in reply, forcing her eyes to focus. He was right, she knew. She had a possible head injury, and had been out too long in the punishing heat of the summer without shelter or, crucially, water. The water she had drunk at the station would help, but she would need time to recover. Meanwhile, there was a thin line between healthful sleep and the unconsciousness that might spell death, and she was thankful for his efforts to steer her away from its edge.

Compared to the walk back to Melbourne, the drive to the Women's Hospital seemed to take no time at all. Jack pulled up outside and walked around to help her from the car. This time, it was not dizziness that made her stumble but the pain in her feet. Jack made a low sound of displeasure and, in one smooth motion, picked her up in his arms. She couldn't resist smiling at him.

"Why Inspector, how dashing and heroic."

He raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever told you you're heavier than you look?" Entering the hospital, he ignored the duty nurse as thoroughly as he had Collins and made a bee-line for Dr. Macmillan's consulting room, grateful that it wasn't far. Setting Phryne down, he rapped sharply on the door.

"I'm on my lunch-break," Mac called, and he turned the doorknob.

"Good, then you won't have any patients," he replied.

The doctor turned to him and sighed wearily. "Inspector, I am barely keeping it together. I can't face talking about her right now-"

"Can you face examining her?" he cut her off as Phryne removed her hat.

"What the- Phryne!" In an instant, Mac was embracing her old friend, but unlike Jack it took only a moment for her professionalism to reassert itself. Holding Phryne at arm's length she gave her a single, head-to-toe glance. "You look awful. Get your dress off, and let me examine you. You," she turned her attention to Jack, "can wait outside."

"I'd rather he stayed."

Mac gave her friend a meaningful look.

"I'd prefer to keep a low profile for the moment. Seeing one of my dearest friends standing guard outside my other dearest friend's door isn't likely to contribute much to that cause."

Jack opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking from Phryne's just-slightly-too-earnest expression to Mac's stony one. "I'll stand here and face the wall," he managed, retreating to the corner by the door.

He heard the rustle of fabric, and tried very hard to think of anything other than Phryne disrobing behind him.

"Hell's bells woman, what exactly did you do?"

"Jumped from a moving car, then walked I'm not sure exactly how many miles back to the city. Oh, and I spent the night under a bush."

"Have you ever considered taking up a less dangerous pastime? I hear tightrope walking is enjoyable. Focus on my finger, and track it with your eyes."

"I'll need a full report on Miss Fisher's injuries," Jack contributed from his corner. Mac's disapproving mutterings combined with Phryne's occasional hisses of pain were having a definite cooling effect on his ardour, and if he was going to make a case against the bastards who had tried to kill her then he'd need to know exactly what injuries she'd sustained.

The examination seemed to take forever, but at last Mac told Phryne that she could put her clothes back on. "Except your shoes and stockings: I want to soak those feet before I even try to do anything with them. And on that note, I'd better go and let the nurses know that I won't be seeing my next few patients."

Jack moved aside to let her out, and a moment later Phryne spoke from behind him. "You can turn around now, Jack."

She was cleaner and appeared slightly more alert, although she was still far too pale. She gave him a wan smile and held out her hand to him. After a moment's hesitation, he took it and sat next to her on the examining couch.

"Exactly how badly are you hurt?" he inquired, a question that he should perhaps have asked earlier.

She shrugged. "No broken bones. Possible concussion, although if it were serious I'd probably still be lying somewhere on the side of the road." She fingered the cut on her temple. "Sunburn and heat exhaustion, some rather nasty scrapes and bruises, and my feet are a mess."

He glanced down and winced. Obviously Mac hadn't worked that far down yet, and her feet were still caked with dried blood, blistered and raw from the unfamiliar shoes and the long walk. "Phryne..."

"Oh, don't look like that." She reached up and laid her hand briefly on his cheek. "A good night's sleep and I'll be well on the road to recovery, you'll see."

He didn't say anything, just reached up and cupped her cheek. He held her gaze for a long moment.

"I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. All the times I've pushed you away."

"You did what was right. You always do."

"I'm not a married man anymore. And I've loved you for a long time."

This time she didn't swoon as he kissed her, and it seemed as though time stood still as their lips moved tenderly together.

"Ahem." Mac cleared her throat in the doorway, loudly and meaningfully. "If you two want some privacy, I can recommend a discreet hotel a couple of blocks from here. Otherwise, I need to work on Phryne's feet."


	4. Chapter 4

"Where to now?"

They had left the hospital and spent some ten minutes in a seemingly aimless road tour of the city.

"Back to your house," Jack replied. "I've been watching the street behind us, and I can't see any evidence that we're being followed. It appears your ruse was successful."

He hadn't realised how tense she had been until he saw her relax. "Thank God. Home sounds wonderful."

It was incredible, Jack thought, just how swiftly a house of mourning could turn into one of celebration. Jane and Dot both flung themselves on Phryne, laughing and crying at the same time. Cec clasped her hand with a heartfelt "Miss Fisher," whilst the usually stoic Burt seemed unable to speak for emotion and just nodded when his turn came. Even the restrained Mr. Butler's eyes were suspiciously moist as he uttered a simple "Welcome home, Miss."

In the midst of it all, he saw Dot clasp her crucifix and turn her eyes up to heaven. Her lips moved silently but he had no difficulty in reading the words 'thank you, thank you' before she kissed the cross and tucked it discreetly away again. He felt suddenly guilty: after all, he, too, had prayed that Phryne would be spared, but he hadn't entertained a single heavenly thought since she had indeed returned safely to him. Belatedly, he whispered his own silent thanks before returning his attention to the star of the show.

"A meal would be wonderful, Mr. Butler," she was saying, "for the Inspector as well, of course. And Dot, perhaps a bath and a change of clothes while I'm waiting?"

"Of course, Miss." Dot almost skipped up the stairs.

With the initial furore over, Burt and Cec shot him an uneasy look – Miss Fisher's friend or not, their well-worn credo of 'never trust a copper' was unlikely to change this side of never – and muttered something about heading back to work. Jane was dismissed to complete the homework she had left unattended the day before, and Phryne turned her attention back to Jack.

"I thought we could discuss the case over a meal – that is, unless you have to head back to the station."

"There's nowhere else I have to be today," he assured her. "But, if you don't mind, I might just make a few telephone calls while you're busy upstairs."

"Of course."


	5. Chapter 5

Once again Tobias Butler had shown himself to be almost psychically attuned to his employer's needs. By the time Phryne emerged from her bedroom and Jack had finished his phone-calls, the finishing touches were being put on a light but satisfying meal of soup, chicken with vegetables and gravy, and a bread-and-butter pudding, one of Phryne's childhood favourites. Phryne, who had eaten nothing since the previous day apart from one of Mac's sandwiches, devoured the soup and a roll with indecent haste, before turning to Jack who, having suddenly realised just how hungry he was, was similarly demolishing his own portion.

"So, what did your telephone calls reveal, Inspector?"

"Very little. Constable Collins is on his way to your aunt's house to give her the good news and retrieve your purse, and I've informed the sergeant handling the accident of your survival."

"And?"

"And, Miss Fisher?" He gave her a poker-face.

"What else did you find out?"

"I think it would be better to approach this case in chronological order. How about you begin by telling me what you were doing on the coast road in the first place."

"I knew you were going to say that." She reached for a manila folder that she had placed on the table as they came in. As she opened it, he could see that its contents were laid out in a manner similar to that of a police case file, and smiled. Observant as ever, Miss Fisher had obviously seen the advantages of taking such a logical approach to recording the details of a case, and adapted it to her own needs. They pored over the file together as she talked.

"Six days ago I had a call from Robert Asquith-"

"Of Asquith Manufacturing?"

"The very same. It seems his seventeen-year-old daughter, Kathryn, had eloped with a rather unsuitable young man, one Alex Kemp, the nineteen-year-old nephew of their chauffeur. The pair met last spring, when Kemp came down from Adelaide to stay with his uncle. When Mr. Asquith found out about the relationship he forbade his daughter from seeing Kemp again, but it appears she enlisted the help of a maid to maintain a clandestine correspondence with her forbidden lover."

"And the chauffeur?"

"Archibald Lawrence was horrified that his nephew had dared set his cap at a young lady from Upstairs and promptly dispatched him back to Adelaide. But it seems that unbeknownst to him, or to Mr. and Mrs. Asquith, Kemp remained in Melbourne instead.

"Then, eight days ago, the maid brought this letter to her mistress at breakfast time." She handed a single sheet of paper to Jack.

"'Dearest Mother and Father,'" he read aloud. "'You cannot know the torment I have endured from the moment you forbade me to see my sweet Alex. I know that he is not a wealthy man, but I believe no money could buy a more noble heart. We can no longer deny the love that we share, and I can only pray that you will one day find it in your hearts to forgive me. Until then, I remain your loving daughter, Katie.'" He sighed impatiently and passed the letter back. "The dramas of youth. I assume the family were unable to locate her?"

Phryne smiled. "Nor the green Studebaker missing from the family garage, nor a significant sum of money removed from the safe in her father's study."

"Did you say a green Studebaker?"

"Very like the one that pursued me on the coast road yesterday. In fact, one might think they were one and the same."

He flipped open his notebook. "Two farmhands say they saw not one but two cars driving recklessly on the coast road shortly before hearing one vehicle crash. Apparently the second car was green, and one of them thought it might have been a Studebaker."

She gave a satisfied nod, and returned to her account. "After their own enquiries reached a dead end, Mr. and Mrs. Asquith contacted me. They were adamant that they no longer cared whom their daughter chose to have a relationship with; they simply wanted to know that she was safe and well, and to let her know that if she was now Mrs. Kemp there would be a place for her husband in the family. Mr. Asquith was even talking about finding him a role in the family business."

"Very generous of him."

"Anything to get his daughter back." She glanced towards the door leading to the stairs. "I know how that feels.

"I spoke to a number of Kemp's relatives here in Melbourne, and had a contact in Adelaide make enquires there."

"'A contact in Adelaide'?"

She gave him an arch look. "A friend of Mac's. He was more than happy to help out, and turned up some rather interesting information."

"Go on."

"It seems that the reason for Mr. Kemp's sudden relocation to Melbourne was an inappropriate relationship he had with the daughter of his previous employer, a Mr. Thomas Forsyth. Over a period of several months, Elizabeth Forsyth provided Kemp with a not-insignificant sum of money, which she appropriated from the family safe and her own allowance. When her father found out about it he, like Mr. Asquith, put a stop to the relationship, and it appears that, unlike Kathryn, Miss Forsyth was unable to find a friendly go-between to assist her in defying her father's orders. As Elizabeth was only fifteen, and there was some suggestion of, shall we say, other improprieties, Mr. Kemp was offered the choice of leaving Adelaide or explaining his actions to the local constabulary. Evidently he chose the former."

"So a young man looking for money targets the daughters of wealthy businessmen. Doesn't bode well for a happy marriage."

Phryne shrugged. "Women do it all the time, and no-one bats an eyelid. Why worry about happiness when you can have a nice car and a big wad of cash?

"Anyway, it was clear that the lovebirds hadn't flown to Adelaide, and none of his family here knew anything, but Kemp has another relative, a cousin who owns a farm on the coast road."

"Does this cousin have a name?"

"Fredrick Lawrence. He isn't on the telephone, and even if he had been I didn't think he'd give me a straight answer, so I decided to drive up there in person."

For the first time she briefly dropped her professional mask. "It should have been such a simple case, Jack. Just check whether Kathryn and Kemp were there, pass on the message, and let her family know where she was." Her tone darkened.

"But it didn't turn out like that. I parked on the road and made my way towards the house – a thoroughly grim, hardscrabble place, hardly a likely setting for high romance. No-one answered at the front door, so I thought I'd try my luck around the back.

"As I approached the back door, I noticed what appeared to be a suspiciously disturbed patch of soil under a tree near the fence."

Up until this point Jack had made few notes, as he could see that Phryne's file contained everything he needed, but as she began her account of her trip up the coast road he had begun writing. "Suspicious in what way?"

"The ground's so dry at the moment that no-one in their right mind would dig it unless they had to, but the soil looked freshly disturbed. And the place had such an eerie, desolate feeling that the first word that popped into my head was 'grave'."

"So then what did you do?"

"I went closer to investigate, and I saw-" she paused and swallowed. "I saw what looked like a woman's hand poking out from the side of the mound."

He stopped writing and met her eye. "A woman's hand? Are you certain?"

She nodded. "When I bent over to take a closer look, I was sure of it. A woman's hand, young, pale, well-cared for. And that's when I heard a shot from behind me."

"A shot?"

"I turned, and there were two men standing on the back doorstep. One of them had a revolver. As I looked at him, he fired again, but he can't have been a very good shot: he missed both times."

This time it was Jack's professional mask that slipped, and Phryne could see how much he wanted to reach out and hold her. She pointed to his notebook, indicating that he should continue writing instead.

"I was completely exposed and had no time to draw my own revolver, so I raced back to the car."

"You didn't throw your dagger?"

"There were two of them," she reminded him. "Even if I'd hit the one with the gun, the other one would still have been on me before I could get to mine, and I'd rather not engage a desperate man at close quarters if I can avoid it.

"I leapt into the car and started up the road, but the next thing I knew I heard an engine behind me, and then more shots. I looked back and saw a green Studebaker pursuing me. I quickly realised that I couldn't outrun them without risking a crash, and that was when it occurred to me that they would very likely give up if they thought I was dead.

"So I pulled as far ahead as I could, pointed her towards the edge of the cliff, and jumped for it."

"You could have been killed!" He stared at her in shock and anger.

"Quite possibly. But I had to do something or I most certainly would have been. I decided that, under the circumstances, it was a risk worth taking.

"The rest I think you know. I must have hit my head, because when I came to in the bushes there was already a crowd gathering."

"You must have seen the police; why didn't you make yourself known to them?"

She gave him a Look. "Because even at that distance, I could see that the crowd included my friends with the gun. Police or no, they seemed like the kind of people who might very well have shot at me first and thought things through later. And I didn't see you there." She sighed and rested her head briefly in her hands. "To be completely honest, I'm not sure that I was thinking entirely clearly, but it seemed perfectly obvious that the only thing to do was to make my way back to you. So I started walking.

"I knew my clothing would be too conspicuous, so I appropriated some from the washing-line of a farmhouse I passed. Which reminds me, I really must arrange suitable compensation for the poor woman I stole from.

"I must have missed you when you were driving up there, but I saw your car go past on your way back to Melbourne. I tried to wave you down, but I suppose you didn't recognise me."

Guilt assailed him. How much pain might he have spared himself, and more importantly her, if he had had the simple compassion to pull over when Collins saw her waving? "Phryne, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be. My disguise was obviously effective, and I made it back here in one piece, so there's no lasting harm." She paused for a moment. "Although it may have given Kemp and Lawrence time to make a run for it."

He winced, knowing that she was correct, but that there was nothing he could do about it at that moment. "We'll have to deal with that in the morning. For now, perhaps a drink is in order?"


	6. Chapter 6

They sat together on the love-seat, Jack angled into the corner and Phryne reclined against his chest, each with a drink in hand. Always before the distance they had kept between them had felt unnatural, a necessary but unpleasant boundary that had prevented them from truly relaxing together. Now for the first time, helped by the liquor and the exhaustion that was now gnawing at both of them, they could both be completely at their ease.

Phryne trailed the fingers of her free hand along the arm wrapped around her, and felt Jack press a kiss to the side of her head in response. After a long and trying two days, she was finally warm and comfortable, and her aching body melted gratefully into his.

Jack felt Phryne progressively relaxing against him, and removed her half-finished drink from her increasingly slack fingers just before she loosed it completely. He set it on the table alongside his own empty glass, and pressed another gentle kiss to her hair.

"Perhaps you should go to bed?" he suggested.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" she teased.

To her surprise, he placed his lips against her ear, close enough for her to feel the tantalising warmth of his breath, before whispering "not tonight."

She was distracted from formulating a response by the sudden shrill of the doorbell, and, a moment later, the sound of her aunt's imperious tones addressing Mr. Butler.

"Ugh, not tonight," she sighed.

Jack started to rise, but fell back when he realised that Phryne wasn't moving. Positioned as they were, he couldn't go anywhere unless she moved first.

"Perhaps we should adopt a less intimate position," he advised.

"You think this is intimate?" Phryne responded suggestively. "She's going to find out about us sooner or later, you know."

"I'd prefer later, and not with me pinned under you on the settee," he hissed, as Mr. Butler entered to announce the arrival.

"Yes, send her in," Phryne replied, still without moving, and a moment later Mrs. Prudence Stanley swept into the room.

Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips as she took in her niece's position and companion. The look she gave Jack reminded him of a proud housewife regarding an unwanted and filthy stray puppy brought home by one of her children. He could almost see her lips forming a command that Phryne take him back to wherever it was she had found him, and leave him there.

But Phryne wasn't a child, and was unlikely to give him up simply because her aunt said so. He met the older woman's gaze evenly, knowing that if he did not she would immediately identify him as the weak link in the relationship and use whatever means of persuasion were available to her in an attempt to convince him to end it.

"Aunt Prudence, how good of you to come," and _now_ Phryne rose, languorously, to face her aunt.

"Oh my dear, did you really expect me to stay away?" Just for a moment, Mrs. Stanley's High Society facade cracked, and she regarded her niece with something that might almost have been affection.

"Of course not." Phryne clasped her aunt's hands.

"Such a terrible accident, my dear. But of course, I've told you before, those things are dangerous, and hardly suitable for a woman to drive. You should have had a man with you," this with an accusatory glance at Jack, who had also risen to stand quietly at Phryne's back. "But then, you're always so ridiculously stubborn about these things."

"Yes, aunt. It was a bit of rotten luck to lose the car." She paused artfully. "I don't suppose you happen to have my purse with you, by any chance?"

"Of course I do." The woman reached behind her, to where Mr. Butler was standing discreetly in the doorway, and he passed the bag across. Phryne at once sat down to rummage through it, provoking a sniff from her aunt.

"I can assure you, everything's still there. Even your gun," – she pronounced the word as another person might have said 'rat' – "although I notice you weren't carrying a handkerchief."

Jack forced his face to remain blank, suddenly very aware of the missing handkerchief still lying carefully folded in the breast pocket of his jacket. Phryne, however, appeared not to have heard.

"Thank you, aunt. I'm grateful to have them back in my possession."

"Very good." There was an awkward silence. "Well, I won't stay for tea, my dear. You still look more than a little peaky." She turned her gaze back to Jack. "You're hardly the suitor I would have chosen for her, but as you seem to be the only person capable of exercising any form of influence over her behaviour, I won't stand in your way." With that, she headed for the door.

Phryne and Jack remained motionless until they heard the front door close, then turned to one another.

"Did your aunt just give me her blessing?" Jack asked, surprised.

Phryne smiled. "In her own unique way."


	7. Chapter 7

Jack called for Phryne early the next morning, and was relieved to see her looking almost completely restored. Indeed, the only visible signs of her ordeal were the healing cut on her temple and a slight limp when she walked, and it occurred to him, not for the first time, that she was in fact more resilient than some of his men.

He offered her his arm and walked her out to the car.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked once they were both seated inside.

"We'll take a few of the men and drive up to the farm. They may not be there, but if not we'll turn the place upside down and see what they've left us. I'll also have my men keep an eye on the family members you identified during your investigation, and I'll ask my colleagues in Adelaide to do the same up there."

"You realise of course that I'm coming with you."

He smiled. "I know better than to try and leave you behind."

He pulled over to the kerb and parked in the shade of a tree. Phryne frowned at him, looking out at the surrounding properties. They were on a quiet residential street, still some distance from the City South station.

"Is there a reason we're stopping here?"

He took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel, staring unseeingly at the road ahead. "I thought perhaps we should talk. Before we go off chasing killers."

Phryne's heart jumped, then sank. She had been dreading this moment. Jack was totally unlike the men she had surrounded herself with for so long. Ever since Rene, she had avoided deep attachments, seeking fun and frivolity without any sense of possession or commitment. Jack was no Rene Dubois, but she doubted that he would ever approach a romantic relationship with anything other than the most serious of intentions. She, on the other hand, had no desire to enmesh herself in the stifling bonds of marriage, even to a man she trusted and admired as much as Jack Robinson. But at the same time, she wasn't sure what she would do without him. Jack, with his unshakeable sense of honour and his unswerving commitment to what was right, had become her rock and her anchor, a stable point of reference in her often chaotic world. Losing him was something she'd prefer not to think about.

So she sat in silence for a long moment before taking a deep breath of her own. "Alright," she said.

The next words out of his mouth were not what she had expected.

"I'm not going to ask you to marry me." He glanced at her sideways. "Unless, of course, you want me to?"

She looked at him sadly, willing him to understand. "Jack, it's not you. I just can't imagine making that kind of commitment to anyone."

He nodded. "I know. That's why I'm not going to ask." He sighed. "But I can't be just another lover to you, Phryne. I can't give myself to you for a day or a month and then walk away as though it meant nothing to me." He turned his head to look at her. "You mean everything to me." He fixed his eyes on the road again before continuing. "And I can't face the thought of you having other men as well as me. I love you, Phryne, and I wouldn't change you for the world. But I can't change myself either. So I'm asking you to decide: do you want me, or not?"

He was a proud man. She could only imagine what that speech had cost him, how long he had thought about just what to say to her. He had laid his position out clearly, leaving no room for misunderstanding. There had been no judgement, no demands, only a choice to be made. She was free to accept him as he was, or to let him go.

"A compromise," she observed, and he nodded. With any other woman it would not have been. With any other woman, to ask for fidelity without offering marriage in return would have been a disgrace and an exploitation. But Phryne was unlike any woman he'd ever known before. He had thought long and hard about this, wrestling with the question of how to reconcile their two very different outlooks on life.

It wasn't their obvious differences that concerned him – if they were polar opposites then it had to be remembered that the two poles between them encompassed the world in all its diversity – but rather their different views on the nature of relationships between men and women. He had always believed that, for better or worse, a man and a woman who sincerely loved one another should commit themselves to each other as husband and wife, forsaking all others for as long as they lived. She, on the other hand, seemed to regard love as nothing more than a game, a momentary diversion. After much reflection, he had come to the conclusion that he could survive without the formality of marriage – after all, prior to his divorce his own marriage had been little more than a sham for years – but he could not live without the fidelity and commitment which marriage supposedly symbolised.

"You were all I could think about," she told him. "All that long way back to Melbourne, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I knew that it I could just make it back to you, then everything would be alright." She turned to look at him, and he faced her squarely. "No-one's ever made me feel like that before." She paused. "You frighten me, Jack."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

"Oh, not in the way Rene did. But to depend so much on another person, to care for them as much as I care for you... I love you, Jack Robinson. And I'd rather be with you than any other man I've ever known. And that frightens me."

She reached out her hand for his, and he turned his palm into her grasp. "But I've never been given to running away from the things I'm afraid of."

He closed his eyes and sighed, smiling for the first time since he had stopped the car. "Very good."

They sat like that for a moment, before Phryne shook herself briskly. "Now, you'd better kiss me, and then let's go catch our killers."

He obliged, then put the car in gear and pulled back into the road.

"Just so we're clear, Miss Fisher, no hanky-panky at the station. Or at any other time when I'm on duty."

She smirked at him, and he realised he'd just given her a challenge. "Spoilsport."


	8. Chapter 8

Constable Collins was waiting for them at the station, plainly looking forward to catching his first glimpse of the woman he had thought was dead.

"Miss Fisher!"

"Hugh!" Phryne shook the younger man's hand warmly.

"I am so glad you're alright."

Jack cleared his throat, and Collins stepped back, coming to attention. "Sir."

"Constable Collins. I'd like you to fetch me Sergeant Jones and Constables Abbot and McKay. Requisition a second car, sign out weapons and collect three – no, better make it four – sets of shackles, and be ready for a briefing in-" he glanced at his watch "- thirty minutes."

"Yes sir." Collins nodded to Phryne and headed off to follow his orders.

Jack headed into his office, not bothering to see whether Phryne was following him. Hell would freeze over before that woman would wait to be invited in. He hung up his coat and hat, placed her file on his desk and sat down, reaching for the phone. "Make yourself comfortable, Miss Fisher."

She smiled and hopped up onto his desk. "I always do."

He hesitated for a moment and just looked at her sitting there before returning to business.

Half an hour later the pair were joined by a rather out-of-breath Collins and the three other policemen. Jack outlined the case, then explained their strategy.

"I'll take the first car with Constable Collins and Miss Fisher. When we reach the farm we'll park in the driveway, thereby blocking it. The rest of you will be in the second car. You'll park on the road, being careful not to obstruct our vehicle. Jones will take point up the driveway. I'll enter the house through the front door; Abbot, you'll take the back. Miss Fisher informs me that there are two out-buildings near the house: Collins and McKay will search those. Sergeant Jones, you'll remain outside until the buildings are secure, and shout a warning if you see anybody who isn't a police officer or Miss Fisher. Miss Fisher will be with me. Remember, we want answers, and that means arrests and not bodies if at all possible. However, Kemp and Lawrence should be considered armed and dangerous, so if necessary don't hesitate to use your weapons. Any questions?"

Sergeant Jones raised his hand, and Jack nodded to him. "I was wondering why Miss Fisher's coming with us, sir. It's dangerous, and she's-" Jack raised an eyebrow, and the sergeant broke off nervously.

"She's what, Sergeant?" Collins, who had heard that deceptively mild tone of voice before, took a discreet step backwards. Jones hesitated, instinctively searching for the least dangerous word.

"Well, she's a civilian, sir."

"Sergeant Jones, as strange as it no doubt seems to many of us, civilians are occasionally willing to assist the police in the execution of our duties, and when they are I believe we should make a point of accepting their aid." He was glad Phryne was standing behind him, as he wasn't certain he could have seen her expression at that blatant lie and kept a straight face. "Miss Fisher is also the only person here who knows the exact location of the farmhouse, and has seen the faces of our suspects. I'm sure we wouldn't want to risk entering the wrong property and arresting the wrong people."

It was a flimsy excuse, he knew, but his real reasons – that if he refused to bring her she would in all probability summon Burt and Cec and follow them anyway; and that he wanted her by his side – would sound both unprofessional and unconvincing to anyone who wasn't already familiar with his lady detective. So he spoke with conviction and the direct gaze that he used to bring hardened criminals to heel and remind subordinate officers that he could make their lives very difficult indeed, and was grateful that Jones appeared satisfied.

"Now, if there are no further questions, I think it's time we left."


	9. Chapter 9

Phryne studied the back of Jack's neck as she rode behind him in the car. Between the collar of his trenchcoat and the brim of his hat, only a small sliver of skin could be seen, and she longed to run her fingers over it, to see him shudder at the unexpected sensation.

Of course, she reminded herself, she would do no such thing right here and now, with Collins sitting right beside him and a couple of killers to catch, but she filed the idea away for a later date.

At one point Collins slowed and glanced nervously at the Inspector, and Phryne realised suddenly where they were.

"We must be close to where I crashed," she remarked.

"Mmm." Jack said nothing else, and she leaned forward, bracing herself with an arm around the back of his seat and contriving to place her hand on his shoulder, out of Collins' line of sight, at the same time.

"It's likely to take me a while to arrange a replacement vehicle. I wonder if perhaps at some point you might be willing to drive me up here so I can compensate the woman whose dress I stole?"

If there had been anyone other than Collins in the car she wouldn't have dared make such an obvious suggestion, but Collins was unlikely to recognise anything odd in her words – a straightforward young man himself, he frequently seemed confused by any but the most direct statements – and she wanted to distract Jack from brooding too much over her near-demise.

As she had hoped he turned to her, his lips tantalisingly close, and she felt him relax under her hand. "It would be my pleasure, Miss Fisher."

She couldn't kiss him, but she held his gaze for a moment and glanced meaningfully at his lips. "Thank you," she replied, and saw him smile.

"That's it," she told Collins a short while later. He pulled into a driveway, parking in front of the gate.

"Are you certain this is the place?" Jack asked, and she nodded.

"You see that section of broken fence, there? I noticed it the first time I came up here: I remember I didn't think much of a farmer who would risk having his stock stray onto the road. The driveway curves around to the left behind that bank, then right towards the house. I would say the distance is about a hundred yards, but they won't see us until we're almost there."

"Very good." The second car had pulled up behind them, and the other policemen were climbing out. "Miss Fisher, I want you to remain with me the entire time we're here, is that understood?"

She smiled. "Of course."

His narrowed eyes indicated that, based on past experience, he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, but he hardly had time to argue the point at that moment.

As planned, Jones took point up the driveway, which was laid out exactly as Phryne had described. The house was silent, and every bit as grim as she had said, and Jack signalled the men to fan out to their positions.

The front doorknob turned easily in his hand and he opened the door gingerly, mindful that it would probably creak. Guns in hand, the two of them slipped inside. The scrape of metal on china from the room to their right drew their attention, and Jack burst into the kitchen as the two men were eating what was presumably either an early lunch or a late breakfast.

"Police! Don't move!"

He stepped to the side, letting Phryne enter the room behind him. Both men gasped when they saw her, and one muttered an obscenity. Their reactions were enough to confirm his suspicions, but he asked the question anyway:

"Are these the men?"

"Yes." Phryne answered decisively. "These are the men who shot at me after I discovered the body they had hidden here, then pursued me in a green Studebaker.

Constable Abbot stepped into the room as Jack moved towards Kemp and Lawrence.

"In that case, I am placing you both under arrest for the attempted murder of Miss Phryne Fisher, the suspected murder of Miss Kathryn Asquith, and various dishonesty charges. Constable, I want both these men in chains."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note:** A huge thank you to all the people who have posted reviews telling me how much they enjoyed this fic: I really appreciate the encouragement. Special thanks to all the people who said kind words about my dialogue and characterisation. I know they aren't perfect, but I put a lot of effort into them, and I'm glad to know people have noticed. And the best news? Season 2 is being screened here in New Zealand immediately after Season 1, so I'll be getting my weekly fix for a while yet.

* * *

After that, it was all fairly simple. Jack separated the two men and placed them both under guard until he and Phryne could question them. The remaining officers fanned out to search the house and surrounding area. They soon found a revolver and several rifles in the living room, Mr. Asquith's missing banknotes concealed in a suitcase in the bedroom, the green Studebaker hidden under a tarpaulin in one of the outbuildings, the disturbed ground where Kathryn Asquith had first been buried and, finally, Kathryn Asquith's body, reburied in a nearby gully. Abbot was dispatched in one of the cars to find a phone from which to call for an undertaker and a prison van, and Jack began questioning his prisoners.

Kemp and Lawrence were cunning, but they were neither clever nor courageous. Under the combined questioning of Jack and Phryne they soon spilled out the whole sorry story.

They had never intended to kill Kathryn, they swore. It was only a plot to get the cash and the car, following which they would leave her asleep at the farmhouse, stranded and possibly seduced but unharmed, and head for Sydney.

But Kathryn had overheard them discussing the plan. She and Kemp had argued, and she had slapped his face before snatching her purse from the table and heading for the door. Kemp had pulled her back and struck her, and she had launched herself at him in a fury. Lawrence had tried to intervene, and she had kicked him in the groin. At some point in the ensuing struggle, one of the men had strangled Kathryn.

When they realised she was dead, they had panicked and hidden her body in a shallow grave near the house before deciding to lay low for a few weeks. They had considered driving the green Studebaker over a cliff, but had decided it was too valuable to part with, and so had agreed to keep it hidden until any outcry over the missing heiress had had a chance to die down.

When they had seen Phryne by the grave they had panicked again, and Lawrence had attempted to shoot her. When that had failed, they had pursued her until she had crashed at which point, assuming her dead, they had joined the crowd at the scene before returning to the farm. They had argued about whether to attempt to walk off the farm – the police were now looking for a green Studebaker, and Lawrence's truck had broken down several weeks earlier – but had been unable to agree on whether this was a good idea, or where to go if they did.

The only thing neither of them would admit to was the actual murder of Kathryn Asquith. Each pointed his finger squarely at the other. Jack, with a look of disgust on his face, calmly informed them that if neither of them confessed then in all probability they would both hang. It was clear to both of them that he did not consider this to be an undesirable outcome.

It was early evening by the time Collins, Jack and Phryne drove back to Melbourne.

"We could stop at that woman's farm on the way, if you like?" Jack offered.

Phryne shook her head. "It's been a long day, and I don't have her clothes with me. I'd rather wait, if that's alright."

"Of course."


	11. Chapter 11

When everything was finally done and dusted, Jack drove Phryne home.

"Don't get too used to having a police vehicle and driver at your beck and call," he cautioned. "This is strictly a one-off."

"Of course."

They both knew it wasn't true: she'd always be able to convince him to do almost anything she wanted and, if she couldn't win him over, there was always Constable Collins. Saying it was almost a ritual, a game they had been playing since the day she first inveigled her way into his investigations.

"Would you like to stay for supper?" she asked, as he pulled up outside her house.

He hesitated for only a moment. There was no meal waiting for him at home, and no wife either. Here was warmth, and welcome, and the woman he loved.

"I would, thank you."

And so he stayed for supper. And then he stayed the night.


End file.
